


Interrogation

by agent_florida



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Artificial Intelligence, Kink Meme, M/M, Non Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-29
Updated: 2010-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-23 20:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/626428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_florida/pseuds/agent_florida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So Wash and The Meta are going to interrogate Doc? He's all trapped, helpless in that wall. Can't even move, now wouldn't it be terrible if someone took advantage? </p><p>(Bonus points for The Meta dredging up some of Omegas memorys of Doc!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interrogation

He’s done it once and he is about to do it again.  
  
He’s angry at the Monitor for sealing off a potential lead to Epsilon, and he’s upset that he has to comfort the Meta. Stupid creature won’t stop snarling at him like a goddamned dog. “Don’t worry. We’ll find them again. We just need some leads.” And he knows what he has to do, knows who he has to talk to, and his voice takes on a dark air when he says “And I know exactly who to ask.”  
  
They make their way back to Blue Base, the Meta still snarling. Wash doesn’t pay attention. He hasn’t cared for a long time, but he can’t tell the Meta that, because he has no idea what’s in that suit, how powerful he is, how much he wants to take out his rage on Wash. Wash can’t give him that opportunity, has to channel it to something else, and he knows that the Meta is going to relish this interrogation more than he is because of that.  
  
Simmons escaped. Well, that isn’t surprising. What is surprising is finding the purple-suited medic buried in the wall. “Did you do that?” he asks the Meta, but he already knows the answer. It’s impressive. From the snarls, he learns that Simmons had tried to free Doc, but hadn’t been able to because of how deeply he was buried in the wall.  
  
His biocom scanner is giving him an alert, and he scans Doc’s body, hoping to find out some kind of weakness, some point on him he can twist and hurt and bring him to his knees. The scanner shows him to be perfectly fine, apart from a slight concussion – and his vitals are elevated. Why? With the scanner, he can see past the medic’s visor, and inside that helmet he is biting his lip, eyes half-closed, head tilted back in submission. “No, please, no,” he’s babbling, a broken record with a broken voice.  
  
He doesn’t mean that, Wash knows, because he’s undoing the codpiece of that purple armor and underneath it Doc is  _hard_ , the outline of his cock straining against the black bodysuit. Probably still aroused from the Red pulling on his armor as he tried to free him from the wall, and it disgusts Wash to know that as he presses down on the bulge with the flat of his hand, hard, so the medic yelps and his forearms twitch. “You know where they went, don’t you?”  
  
“I don’t – no – stop,” but his lips are glossy under the visor, eyelashes fluttering at the sensation.  
  
The Meta growls from next to him, and it pisses Wash off, to the point where he snaps back “Well, if I’m doing it wrong, why don’t  _you_  try and interrogate him?”  
  
The white soldier pushes his hand from Doc’s crotch, replacing it with his own as he growls, resting the fishbowl of his helmet against the ridge on top of the medic’s head, and suddenly Doc is  _screaming_ , throat filled with the purest panic Wash has ever heard, and it’s delicious and frightening all at once. The Meta growls at him, and he understands now: this was Omega’s plaything, and the Meta, with Omega’s knowledge, is touching and torturing, pleasure and pain in perfect counterpoint.  
  
The screaming continues as the Meta pulls down the bodysuit, exposes the medic’s cock to the air, so swollen and nearly as purple as the armor surrounding it. Wash can hardly make out any words in the grating sound coming from Doc’s throat, but he swears at one point he can hear “O’Malley,” and he wonders for the umpteenth time if the emp has gone off as he hoped, because this sounds suspiciously like Omega jumping from host to host, thoroughly infecting and possessing as he went.  
  
The Meta’s hand is working furiously now, and Wash knows how uncomfortable the chafing of armor on skin can feel; he’s surprised Doc isn’t bleeding from the abrasions yet. “Stop, stop,” the medic is screaming, “there’s a body in the base, a woman’s body, stop it, O’Malley,  _stop it_ , I told you what you wanted to –“  
  
Doc doesn’t come until the moment the Meta takes away his hand, wordlessly blowing his load and choking on his own sobs. Wash is half-disgusted, half-pleased. He’s learned something from this, but the medic is so pathetic and pitiful that it leaves a bad taste in the back of his throat. “Well,” he says to the Meta as the hulking brute puts Doc’s pelvic plating back on, “looks like we have a lead after all.”


End file.
